Golf's Cowfield

My sister Aloma remembers:

John Goff's cowfield ranged from the bottom of Blosser Hill to the top and had a home, a cow barn and lots of wonderful ups and downs for 20 Lewis grandchildren to roam winter and summer.
I have often though how it might have been if the cowfield had not been there as our playground in all seasons.
In spring the sap ran from the maple trees that bordered the fence all the length of the field. In summer we ranged over all of the fields that didn’t have a bull within one of the fenced fields. A creek ran through the middle of the fields and a frog pond was half way up the highest field. Once brother Harold was walking across a log on the pond and said "Play I am the Doctor." and then he fell into the water. We laughed and told that story for many years.

In the summer we walked and played in the high grass that grew over much of the hill. when we were in the porch swing on our front porch, we would sing in loud voices with the maple leaves blowing in the wind and giving background music. We did lots of calisthenics in the field near our home. Once Helen made little tickets for us to go to the neighbors and sell for a penny so they could watch us perform. We sold several but only Jr. Baker came to watch us do back bends and cartwheels.

In winter we really had fun! Paul and Hugh Lewis, our uncles, made a bobsled for us. We piled on it and had fun falling off into the snow. Once Bill Porter came out and played with us at night when the big boys had built a fire in a barrel and we roasted apples over it. A very good memory.
When we went for milk to Goff's springhouse in the winter time we had to climb over the fences and often look out for a bull if the cows were out. Then spring and the tapping of the maple trees for sap to make syrup.

Fall was a great time of gathering the Maple leaves into big piles and jumping on and through them.

Goff's cowfield was a magic place for children and Blosser Hill would not have been such a joyous place without that side of the road. A cherished memory indeed!

Aloma